


The Truth is a Beautiful Thing with a Terrible Price

by alwayslily22, Des98



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Abusive Dursley Family (mentioned), Angst, Drarry, M/M, Pre-Slash, TW: self-harm (mentioned), Unforgivable Curses, past history of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayslily22/pseuds/alwayslily22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: An alternate version of what might have happened in the bathroom during sixth year.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JessicaAuburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaAuburn/gifts).



> Hi guys- don't worry, I'm still working on my other fics, but this has been rattling around in my head for a while, and I'm down with the flu so not really up to working on my longer stuff atm (similarly, if this sucks, you know why). Anyway, happy Saturday, lots of love, etc. Des

           Draco hadn’t been expecting anyone to walk in on him as he tried to collect himself in the girl’s bathroom on the first floor.  Most people tended to avoid Myrtle’s domain, well, except for him, of course… misery loves company and all that.  He was allowing himself the dubious pleasure of wallowing in his self-pity and the overwhelming enormity of the task he’d been assigned when he heard footsteps outside the bathroom and hastily wiped his eyes and covered his dark mark, still covered in red nail marks from where he’d angrily tried to scratch it off earlier… not that it ever worked.  The thing seemed to be stuck on him; he had figured that out the night he’d been forced to take it and spent the next two hours desperately flinging every painful hex he knew at it, trying to get it off while it was still fresh.  It hadn’t worked then, and now his pitiful attempts to claw it off were merely to relieve some of the aggression he felt towards the world and everyone in it, towards himself. 

            He’d no sooner hastily buttoned the sleeve of his pressed white shirt over his forearm than he saw large green eyes peeking timidly out at him from a dark face topped with atrociously messy black hair.  Of course, Potter had been following him.  _Again._ Of all the times he’d wished for Harry to take an interest in him, this year had to be the only point of his school career he’d wished for the exact opposite.  But then, here he was, savior of the wizarding world, Gryffindor’s golden boy, looking as if he’d only just now realized he’d made a mistake as he tried to back away unnoticed. 

            “Potter!” he spat, injecting as much venom into his voice as he could muster, which wasn’t nearly approaching his usual levels of postulated haughty contempt. 

            “Malfoy, I was just… I’m gonna, um…” the other boy looked as if he wasn’t sure quite _what_ he wanted to do when faced with a situation so far away from what he’d expected. 

            “What, spying on me now?  As if the hero of the wizarding world has nothing better to do with his time than stalk a mere Slytherin…” Draco’s face contorted with disgust, more towards himself than Potter, but he wasn’t to know that. 

            “No! It wasn’t… I didn’t mean for, well, I shouldn’t have done… maybe I could help you?”  He ended his string of incoherent ramblings/apologies with an offer of aid and, dear gods, was that _hope_ in his brilliant green eyes?  Draco felt sick, and he couldn’t quite forgive himself for wanting, so badly, to take the outstretched hand Potter offered, a mirror of their first year, despite what switching sides would do to his family, to his _mother._

            “I’m not your pity project!” Draco spat at the Gryffindor, which he knew was probably false- Harry had a habit for extending a friendly hand to the weak and helpless, and he _hated_ that that was what he, Draco Malfoy, was at the moment.  “I know perfectly well what I’m doing!”  Out of all the lies he’d told that day, this was the largest, but then again, a major part of him didn’t really _want_ him to know what he was doing, now did it?

            “I…” but Draco didn’t give Harry a chance to finish, to say more, words that would no doubt lead to his willing undoing, before he fired off a hex from his wand.  Harry easily side-stepped, held up his hands, and tried to say something else, but Draco didn’t let him. 

            As Draco fired off more and more desperate spell-fire, Harry did eventually resort to defending himself, but it was easy to see, even in the heat of the moment, that in comparison to the Slytherin, he was firing off milder, playground-type jinxes, and missing so conspicuously that there was no way a wizard of his talent would have fought so badly unless he were trying.  And Draco was angry, oh, so _furious,_ that even as he fought more desperately, with darker and darker spells, Harry merely dodged them easily and continued trying to placate him like he was a feral little puppy.  He was so angry that he did something he thought for sure he’d never, _never_ do, especially not to Harry Potter, who had drawn him in, secretly prostrate on his knees, for just the slightest flicker of appreciation and acknowledgement. 

            _“Crucio!”_ he yelled, and even as the curse left his wand he was surprised, and Harry stopped in the middle of the floor, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t quite believe Draco would do such a thing, even though every minute of the role Draco had played for the past six years suggested that the Malfoy Harry knew most certainly would. 

            Even more surprising, for Draco at least, was when Potter seized up as the curse took effect.  Draco knew he didn’t have enough hatred in his heart to pull off that spell, much less against Potter- Merlin help him, _least of all against Potter._ Alarmed, he moved to drop the spell, but it didn’t let up, and Draco tried again and again, frantically.  By some miracle, Harry hadn’t started screaming yet (it had been what, a minute by now?  Even Sev couldn’t stay quiet for more than thirty seconds of such extreme pain).  But the Gryffindor’s body was writhing on the floor, and he’d bitten straight through his lip in his efforts not to cry out, so that blood streamed down his chin and onto his chest. 

            Draco dropped his wand and ran, still the spell hadn’t let up.  He shook the other boy, and he was dimly aware that he was screaming, begging for the spell to end, for Harry’s face to stop twisting in vivid agony. 

            “Harry, no!  Dammit, just, just be okay, alright!  You can make me your pity project or try to help me or anything you want, just… just don’t do this! What have I done?  Just, just take it off him, alright? Do it to me, or turn me into the ministry or whatever, but _dear Merlin just make it stop!_ ”  Draco had gone from begging Harry to pleading for the world in general to just _fix this, fix whatever he’d done,_ and it had been approaching two minutes of the cruciatus curse and Harry had started whimpering quietly when Draco remembered that Severus had given him an emergency Portkey to his office, and he pulled it out, one arm around a shaking, seizing Harry, as he tapped it with his wand and they disappeared. 

            Then they were in Uncle Sev’s private quarters and the older man was taking in the scene, normally emotionless eyes wide, as he pulled Draco away from Harry by the shoulders. 

            “Draco, Draco, what the hell happened?!” And then his godfather’s hands were shaking some sense into him as Draco shakily explained and Harry’s low whimper turned into an agonized whine. 

            Draco hadn’t thought he was speaking very coherently, but Professor Snape must have gathered enough as his eyes widened and he cursed aloud. 

            “Merlin, Draco!  You accidentally cast the curse with your own self-loathing; that’s not how the spell is supposed to be done, so you can’t just _cancel_ it on a whim.” The potion master’s fathomless black eyes looked at him with pity as he realized just _what_ his godson had gotten himself into, and with whom.  “You’re going to have to open your heart to him if you want this to end, you’re going to have to bare your soul and your feelings and satisfy the spell as to why your self-hatred is so intense.  I wish I could make things easier, but Potter’s been under the spell for nearly five minutes now and we don’t have much time before it does permanent damage; his nerves may have suffered something irreversible already.”  

            The last thing Draco wanted to do was bare his soul and his feelings to Potter, to Harry, but he was suffering because of him and that was even worse.  So, without even realizing just what he was doing, he’d taken Harry’s hand and started to speak. 

            “Potter… Harry, this wasn’t… I didn’t mean for this to happen.  I was angry at myself for being weak and not fighting, not fighting like you would have, if they were making you do the things they’re trying to make me do, and angry at the world for what’s been happening lately, but I wasn’t angry at you.  I don’t think I _could_ be angry at you, dammit, and I didn’t know that the way I hate myself for going along with the things I’m being forced into could hurt you; I was lashing out and it landed on you because you were right there…” he swallowed, the spell hadn’t ended yet and he knew he needed to say more, say the one thing he’d been hoping to take with him to the grave.  “And because… because, you, Harry, well, you’re unfortunate enough to have the biggest wreck of a sniveling, terrified coward desperately in love with you, and you don’t deserve that, and I’m sorry that it’s ended up like this, with you suffering because I’m angry and desperate and pining for someone I could never have, could never _deserve._ ”  There were tears streaming down his face now, more tears than were on even Harry’s face as he took a deep, gasping breath of air and gave a great, gasping shudder as the spell finally gave way. 

            Draco realized, embarrassed, that he was still holding Harry’s hand, and before he could pull it away the other boy leaned over and retched all over the stone floor for a full minute before there was nothing else in his scrawny body and he was just dry heaving.  Severus, feeling sorry for him, which he _never_ thought would happen with a Potter- but, well, here they were- muttered a spell that would stop his gag reflex, and Harry took a deep, shaky breath and fell back, spent, against Draco’s lap, seeming not to care that he was leaning for support on the person who’d put him in this state in the first place. 

            Harry was still gasping and showing no signs of moving off of Draco when Snape moved cautiously towards him a few moments later. 

            “Alright Potter, you were under that spell for a long time, and while it’s an excellent sign that you seem lucid and sane after nearly _seven_ minutes of the torture curse, I’m going to need to assess the physical damages.  I’m going to gently remove your robes now.” 

            Green eyes widened in a panic as Harry tried to protest, to move away, but after seven minutes of having his body thrown around like a ragdoll, he could neither move of his own accord nor manage any more than a weak slur of “nnn.. pr…” as Severus, almost unbelievably gently for the dour man, batted aside his protesting hands and gently pulled the robes away from the boy’s tan back and chest. 

            Draco and Severus gasped in unison, and Harry would have looked away embarrassedly if his head had been capable of doing more than just lolling weakly to the side.  His chest and back were covered in deep, knotted scars that appeared to come from a belt buckle and Merlin-knows-what-else and it was obvious immediately to the other wizards that they could have only been inflicted by Harry’s muggle relatives; wizards didn’t do that to their children, even the worst sort used spells that didn’t leave so much as a blemish, both for the sake of their reputation and out of a belief that to physically lay hand (or something else) on another wizard was to stoop to a boorishly low level when a wand could be used instead. 

            Severus very gently laid a hand on Harry’s shaking shoulder.  “It seems I had the wrong idea of your relatives, if I am to guess, eh Potter?” 

            Harry, shivering, sank even further into Draco’s lap and the softness of the silk robes covering it and looked at Snape for a long moment before nodding his head in a nearly imperceptible _yes._ The potions professor let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Well, it seems to me we three have a lot to talk about, but first we must get you well.  I am going to have to floo Pomphrey to come here, it is unsafe to move you at the moment.” 

            Harry shook his head desperately before gripping it as the action caused him intense pain.  “Draco needs to leave,” he rasped.  “It… he didn’t mean to do this; it wasn’t his fault.” 

            “You cannot possibly mean that!” Severus snapped.  “Draco is my godson and even I am forced to admit that however unintended, his actions were reprehensible.” 

            Harry slowly and deliberately shook his head again.  “Then we’ll figure it out between the three of us; no need to get Pomphrey involved.  Draco has enough on his plate as it is.”  The significant look in Harry’s emerald eyes as he carefully inclined his head upwards towards Draco’s clearly demonstrated that despite the haze of agony he’d been in, he had heard and remembered every word of his confession. 

            Draco was touched and keenly guilty over the fact that he had somehow won over the affection of someone who was so much nobler than he was, affection that he wasn’t worthy of.  Nevertheless, despite knowing he really had no right to, he gently pulled Harry a little farther up against his chest. 

            “No.” He stated firmly, and in some back corner of his mind he was dimly aware that for better or for worse, this pivotal moment was him taking his life into his own hands for the first time.  “I’m taking responsibility for myself.  I’m staying here, with you, come what may.” 


	2. Chapter 2

         Madame Pomphrey was understandably surprised to be called to Severus Snape’s personal quarters to treat Harry for the torture curse, especially when she saw all the scars on his back and chest.  But there was work to be done, so she just raised her eyebrow at him and sighed. 

            “I must say, Mr. Potter, that you are the first patient who’s ever been able to cast a glamour charm I couldn’t see through.  An unfortunate laurel to rest on, in this case, but we can deal with related concerns later.  Severus, he needs to be on a comfortable surface for the exam.” She turned to the potions master, who motioned to a closed door on the back wall.  Poppy cast a levitation spell and Harry found himself floating into Snape’s bedroom, and he couldn’t quite suppress a shudder as he was laid on _Snape’s_ bed. 

            “I change the sheets daily Potter, you needn’t be repulsed,” Severus said, catching the Gryffindors dubious look.  Harry felt relieved that Snape was acting somewhat like his usual self after being disconcertingly _nice_ the past few minutes. 

            “Well it’s a good thing the bed is ready to receive him, because he won’t be leaving it for a week at least,” Poppy remarked as she frowned at the results coming from her wand. 

            “That bad?” Draco had turned white and started to shake, and while the mediwitch didn’t know yet why he was here, she had a pretty good idea. 

            “We may count ourselves lucky, Mr. Malfoy, that if Harry stays as still as possible for a while, it should offset any permanent nerve damage.  Especially when we take into account the not insignificant chronic malnutrition,” she added as she shot Harry a significant look.

            Snape had leaned over Poppy’s shoulder to peer at the numbers coming from her wand. 

            “Merlin, Potter!  Did those _animals_ feed you at all?!”

            “Sometimes,” Harry looked down his nose, face red. 

            “Luckily,” Pomphrey continued, ignoring them, “it’s not too late to be corrected with time, a nutritious diet, and a comprehensive potions regimen.  Another summer and I’m afraid I would not have been able to say the same.” 

            “We will obviously have to work out a custody arrangement.  Minerva is the obvious choice, as she is his head of house and the matter could be handled with discretion,” Severus said. 

            “What?!” Harry yelped, “but the blood wards…”

            “Are of no use to us if the muggles kill you before the Dark Lord does,” Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as if he couldn’t believe this was even a topic for consideration.     

            “But won’t that put Professor McGonagall in danger?  Not to mention the inconvenience…”  Harry chewed his lip nervously, and winced as his teeth hit the spot he’d bitten through earlier.  Poppy reacted immediately, tapping it with her wand to seal the wound. 

            “I wouldn’t worry about it, Harry,” she told him in a softer tone.  “After James and Lilly died, Minerva spent three weeks ranting to me about how Professor Dumbledore insisted on leaving you with the muggles.  She offered multiple times to raise you herself, but Albus wouldn’t hear of it.  Now it seems he won’t have a choice.” 

            Harry thought about that for a minute.  All those years in his cupboard, wishing someone wanted him, and he’d had no idea somebody actually _had._ It was a bittersweet feeling.

            “Well, I’m afraid I must be getting back to my other patients, but Severus, I’m leaving you Harry’s potions list, and I suggest you get brewing.  I will take care of the conversation with Albus and Minerva tonight; I have more than enough physical evidence that Harry has no need to be involved in such an uncomfortable situation.”  Harry smiled shakily at Madame Pomphrey; that was such a relief.  Of course, the rational part of his brain told him that he would have to talk about it _sometime…_

Draco was still standing nervously off to the side when Pomphrey cast an eye at him.  “I don’t know _what,_ exactly, happened today, but as nobody is in Azkaban I trust you to work it out amongst yourselves.”

            Then she was gone, and Draco was dancing nervously from foot to foot.  Harry envied him the ability to move, if not the situation. 

            “There is still the matter of your punishment, Draco.  For starters, I feel that it is only fair that as Harry will be unable to play in the quidditch match on Saturday, you shan’t be allowed either.”  Draco nodded at his godfather, waiting for more.  Harry had to admit that he wasn’t upset with this provision either, although more for quidditch-related motives: Ginny was far better than the Slytherin’s alternate seeker.

            “As for detention, I think that three months should suffice to start with.”  Draco nodded again.  He thought he deserved far worse, but Harry shakily raised a hand. 

            “How about instead he takes notes for the classes I miss and spends time with me here in the evenings so I don’t get too bored,” he offered.

            Draco looked at him, astonished.  After what he’d done, Harry still wanted to willingly spend time with him?  He wasn’t sure if he was elated or terrified… probably both. 

            “You’re really far too kind for your own good, Potter.”  Snape looked at him like a potion that wasn’t quite turning out how it should.

            “Did you just… compliment me, Professor?”

            “It wasn’t a complement, you absolute Gryffindor.  However, since you are the injured party in this whole debacle, I will consent to allow this and cut the detentions to two months if Draco is amenable.” 

            “I… I’d be happy to keep you company Pott- Harry…” Draco mumbled, his cheeks a brilliant scarlet. 

            “Great,” Harry’s face lit up, and Draco’s gut clenched painfully.  _He_ had put that smile on Harry’s face.  Guilt wrestled with joy in his chest as he realized that even Harry knew, Harry knew that Draco loved him.  But he was still willing to be friends, he still _wanted_ to spend time with him, a death eater’s son (a death eater in his own right, now, but he hated thinking about that). 

             He wanted to sing; he wanted to dance in the streets of Hogsmeade and apologize to Granger and Weasley for every mean thing he’d ever said to them.  He wished he knew where Dobby had gone so he could tell him about it; Harry Potter wanted to be friends, or at the very least he didn’t want to go back to hostile terms like Draco knew he deserved.  He didn’t care if he had to spend every day for the rest of his life suppressing his feelings if it meant he could have Harry in his life in any capacity, if he could get to see him smile and know that he was the reason.  He’d realized he was hopelessly in love with Harry Potter when they were thirteen years old.  Pretending to be a dementor and faking injury via hippogriff hadn’t worked, but apparently an unforgivable curse was just the thing.  Flowers and chocolates would be so much simpler, but nothing involving Harry was ever simple.  Draco didn’t care; Harry, not famous Harry Potter, but Harry with the green eyes and the way he bit his lip when he was thinking and the goofy smile he got when he played quidditch, well, he was worth every trial in the world. 


	3. Chapter 3

          Draco could hardly wait for his classes to end the next day so he could go see Harry.  As soon as his last lecture ended, he was down in Sev’s quarters and rushing to his room where Harry would be.  He found the Gryffindor lying on the bed with a book levitating above his nose.  Draco did a double take when he realized…

            “You’re doing wandless magic!” he gasped.

            Harry moved his eyes towards Draco.  “I’m not supposed to move too much.” 

            “I… I didn’t know you could do wandless magic,” Draco breathed in awe.

            Harry smiled as a page turned itself and a bookmark floated out of his bag before the book closed and floated down to the nightstand.  “I don’t exactly advertise the fact; I get enough unwanted attention as it is.  How was your day?” 

            “Oh, you know, the usual… nothing too interesting,” Draco answered. 

            “Gotta be more interesting than my day,” Harry said.  “I just laid in bed being bored.” 

            Draco squirmed guiltily and Harry looked stricken.  “I didn’t… sorry, I didn’t wanna make you feel bad.  It’s not so awful.  I get a lot of sleep, and hey, at least I never have to go back to the Dursley’s.  So, uh, thanks- for that and all.”  He tried to move his arm and then winced. 

            “So, what are you planning to do this summer?  While you’re staying at Hogwarts with McGonagall,” Draco didn’t respond to Harry’s show of pain, as he didn’t think the other boy would appreciate it. 

            “I dunno,” Harry scrunched his face in thought.  “Haven’t really thought about it.  Guess I’ll practice quidditch, do some homework.  It’ll be nice to not have to hide my books and do it in the middle of the night.”

            “They wouldn’t let you do your homework?” Draco quickly schooled his horrified reaction into a smile that looked more like a grimace.  “Most kids would love to have that excuse.  You really passed up an opportunity by doing it anyway, Potter.  Such a Gryffindor.”

            “Call me Harry.”

            “What?” Draco couldn’t hide his shocked expression.  

            “Call me Harry.  We’re friends now.”

            “Oh, okay.  I’d like that, I mean, I would like it if… you might name me, I mean call me by my name.  My first name, that is to say,” Draco rambled nervously. 

            “I’m pretty sure I have been, oh articulate pureblood.” 

            “Shut up.” The blonde’s pale cheeks were flushed red. 

            “You look nice when you blush, you know,” Harry told him seriously.

            “Don’t taunt me, Harry.  Please- it hurts too much,” Draco turned his face away.

            “I’m not taunting you Draco, I swear.  I really think you’re attractive.  I think, I think that we could, you know, go somewhere… like, romantically,” Harry was blushing visibly as well, which was quite something as it was much harder to see blushing on his darker skin tone than Draco’s light one.

            _After I nearly killed you?_ Draco thought, but what he said was- “You, you like men?” He didn’t think that Harry Potter, the chosen one would be… _that way._

            “Yeah, and women too.  Bisexuality is a cool concept.  Although I’ve never had a crush on Ginny like the rumor mill likes to claim these days.  She’s like a sister to me, that be weird.  Besides, she’s dating Luna.” A look crossed his face as he remembered that they were still keeping their relationship a secret.  “Please don’t tell anyone I told you that; I wasn’t supposed to say anything.  I must’ve been spending too much time with Hagrid lately…”

            “Relax Potter, the Weaslette’s romantic entanglements are of no interest to me,” Draco rolled his eyes, but inside he was spinning like a tire on a muggle car.  Harry liked men… Harry thought he was attractive… Harry had expressed an interest in him… but…

            His face fell as he remembered the dark mark on his arm.  “Harry, I’m… I’m not, not good enough for you.  I…”

            “Have the dark mark, yeah.  I kinda figured.  But I don’t think you wanted it… I’ve spent enough time obsessing about you over the years to know that,” Harry remarked nonchalantly. 

            “I’m not, I’m not sure where to start with that sentence…”

            “What, you never figured you’d be in Snape’s bedroom with Harry Potter admitting he’s basically obsessed with you?” Harry smiled crookedly at him, and _god,_ those dimples.

            “If we could get back to the more pressing matter…” Draco wanted to distract his groin from the attractive man lying on the bed.

            “What, Voldemort?  We’ll figure it out.  Tell me more about how pretty I am, after all, I am an ‘arrogant prat,’” Harry teased.

            “No, I mean don’t be so bloody tempting or I will literally jump on you and start making out, and I’m pretty sure that’s against Pomphrey’s recommendations. 

            “To hell with Pomphrey’s recommendations, let do it!” Harry licked his lips. 

            “Yeah, that’ll work when you can’t move without groaning,” Draco rolled his eyes and tried to hide how flustered he was.  “Besides, I believe on taking a man on a proper date first.  I’m a gentleman.”

            “I don’t think it would be safe for you to be seen with me, though, would it?  So, we’d have to do like, a picnic on the grounds at midnight… or something,” Harry finished lamely.

            “Yes Potter, lets all get eaten by monsters, how romantic.”

            “I thought I told you to call me Harry.”

            “Yes, well, I’m still going to call you Potter when you’re being stupid, although I’m pretty sure the fact that you want anything to do with me at all makes you stupid… never mind that though.  I was thinking a romantic dinner in the room of requirement,” he added quickly when Harry’s face fell at the thought that Draco might not want to spend time with him. 

            “That sounds nice.”  Green eyes smiled at him.

            “Speaking of dinner,” Draco said, “do you think the house elves could bring mine down here as well.  I don’t really feel like going up to the Great Hall…”

            “Yeah, I’m sure they would.  But what’s wrong with the Great Hall?  Is it your friends? Or Pansy- is she still like, trying to hit on you?” Harry looked at him, concerned.

            Draco looked confused for a minute before he realized that Harry had seen him with his head on Pansy’s lap.  He barked a laugh and continued until Harry looked at him funny.

            “I’m sorry.  It’s just… you thought that Pansy and I, oh Merlin it’s hilarious.” Draco wiped a tear from his eye. 

            “What’s so funny about it?”

            “Pansy wouldn’t hit anything with a cock even if it brought the founders back.  She’s the epitome of a raging lesbian.” 

            “Oh.” Harry blinked. 

            “Yeah.  She’s not subtle about it, either.  That thing, what’s that the muggles call it? The gaydar?  Yours doesn’t work very well, does it?” Draco snorted.

            “Oh yeah, didn’t you know? Bisexuals only have half a gaydar,” Harry quipped.  They both laughed so hard that Harry was holding his ribs and gasping in pain by the time they’d calmed down. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A random chapter that is just whatever came into my head at the time. Just an fyi, I have no idea where I'm going with this, but it's gonna be really gay.

             Snape waved his wand over Harry’s head and frowned.  “How much have you been moving around, Potter?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

            “Not much at all, Professor, I swear.”  And it was true- it really did cause him extreme pain to move even slightly, so although it was very hard for Harry to keep still, he had been. 

            “You’re not recovering as you should, and it can’t be due to issues with my potions.”

            “I wouldn’t be overly concerned, sir- I’ve always been a bit slower than most to recover from illness; it took me a month to get over the chicken pox as a child,” Harry told him. 

             “Must be the malnutrition,” Snape agreed.  “Still, I would like to get you up and about sooner rather than later.  Poppy tells me it’s been getting more difficult to fend off the determined advances of your friends; they don’t seem pacified by the explanation that you’re under quarantine for the wizard’s flu.” 

            “I imagine you’d also like your bed back, sir,” Harry added, ignoring the complaint about Ron and Hermione- he expected nothing less from his best friends.

            “Hmmm? Oh- no, that wasn’t on my list of concerns.  I have magic and was easily able to transfigure my couch into something just as comfortable,” the professor muttered distractedly, frowning over Harry’s test results again. 

            “Um, right- magic…” Harry stuttered, trying to ease the awkwardness of the conversation.  “So, uh, how’s Draco doing today?”

            “Fine,” Snape muttered, “better than can be expected, considering everything that’s been going on lately.  Much as it pains me to admit it, I suppose we have you to thank for that.  Say, Potter, why didn’t you tell me you were allergic to the varnish on the school cauldrons?” 

            “I’m what?” 

            “Allergic, Potter.  I.e., being in the potions classroom brewing with standard issue cauldrons would cause you such reactions as headaches, itchy eyes, difficulty concentrating, general discomfort… it’s really not a difficult concept,” Snape droned, raising an eyebrow at him to hide his concern.  An undiscovered allergy to something used in the classroom would explain his difficulty with the subject, especially considering that the other teachers went on and on about his prowess in other school subjects. 

            “I… I supposed I never really noticed it.  With all due respect, Professor, I’m not exactly unfamiliar with the feeling of discomfort,” Harry responded, and Snape sighed as he realized that the statement could refer to a number of things… his general state of subpar health from his ‘care’ over the summers, the way he himself treated the Gryffindor, the Slytherins constant efforts to sabotage his potions… god, where had he gone so wrong with Lily’s son?

            “Sir?” Harry asked cautiously.  “I apologize, but I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past minute.”

            “Oh… what now? I wasn’t… what is it you need?” Snape asked, not quite able to bring himself to apologize to Potter out loud, even for so small a thing. 

            “I said ‘so what should I do about it?’ The allergy, I mean?” Harry asked. 

            “Oh, it’s a fairly simple fix- you’re not the only one to have this allergy, although it _is_ fairly uncommon.  I have to buy some unvarnished cauldrons for your class and I can brew an alternate one for the outside of them that will not cause you such… unfortunate responses.” 

            “Um… alright.  So, this might make it a bit easier to brew?”

            “I would think so,” Snape snorted.  “As such, I will… make a concession and… adjust your grades accordingly depending on how well you are able to make a potion when you have a fair chance at it.”  The sentence looked extremely painful for him.

            Harry, too, was extremely surprised by this show of basic courtesy, and was looking at the professor like he’d grown an extra head.  “Um… wow,” was the only thing he could think to say, and Severus wished he could tell him not to look so surprised, but it did seem completely incongruent with his previous behavior towards the teen. 

            Snape, trying to lessen the awkwardness of the situation, looked at his watch.  “Oh, it’s nearly time for my last class.  I will get these results to Pomphrey, and I suggest she is going to increase the dosages of some of your potions.”  Harry groaned, they tasted horrible enough at their current doses.  He watched the professor leave carefully before relaxing and silently calling his book towards him with his magic, setting it to float above his nose when Snape suddenly came back in.

            “I’ve forgotten my… holy shit, Potter! Wandless magic?!”  Harry groaned- busted.

            “Is it really so uncommon?” he cast a dubious eye at the professor, who was looking at him as if he’d seen a ghost. 

            “To answer your question, Potter, senior aurors are given a course in very basic charms as part of their advanced training, and they usually find it very difficult to even do lesser spells than what you are currently accomplishing thoughtlessly.  So yes, Potter, for a sixteen-year-old with no training to be using it casually for everyday tasks- it’s downright shocking.” 

            “I mean, I knew it wasn’t like, super common, which is why I don’t go around telling people I can, but with Draco’s reaction and now yours, you’d think I was, like, half hippogriff or something.” 

            “I… I don’t even know where in your strange little mind these analogies come from, Potter, and I’m sure I don’t want to.  As such, I am going to grab my notes and be on my way, and Draco should be down to visit you after this class period.”  The professor walked away, holding his head with one hand, and Harry just went back to his book, which had been floating easily above him the entire time.  Slytherins were so dramatic…


	5. Chapter 5

            Harry’s eyes tracked the clock in the corner of Snape’s bedroom as he waited for Draco.  He was dreadfully bored, and he _may_ have made a habit of watching the clock minute by minute, until it reached five, which was when Draco came down to meet him.  He desperately treasured his few evening hours with Draco, especially because it had already been four days, and Madame Pomphrey said she was _most definitely_ going to have to keep him longer than a week.  It was irritating, the way she hovered.  And even Snape had been… _weird…_ the past few days, not insulting him or anything.

            Tick, tock, tick… 5:01, 5:02, 5:03… alright, so he was a little late.  No need to worry.  He probably just took a little bit longer to gather up his school things before leaving class.  Or maybe the lecture ran late.  5:04, 5:05… maybe he got caught on a moving staircase.  Nothing serious.  He probably wasn’t being accosted by other students who had a problem with Slytherins.  He’d been keeping his head down lately; there was no reason that anyone would be throwing hexes at him in the hall.  And Hogwarts was a tricky place to navigate; all was fine.  Harry took a deep breath.  They weren’t even _dating_ yet; he wasn’t about to be one of those pushy partners that wanted to know where their partner was every second of the day.  That would be ridiculous. 

            Harry started to twitch nervously as the clock moved towards 5:08, despite the fact that the movement sent fires of pain running through his veins.  It hadn’t even been ten minutes yet.  But Draco was always on time before… should he be worried?  No, everything was fine… right?  He wasn’t in trouble, or in pain, or sick.  Or unconscious in a hallway somewhere… attacked by death eaters who’d found out that he and Draco were spending time together.

            _Calm down,_ Harry told himself.  Death Eaters couldn’t even get into Hogwarts.  Except… five out of six defense teachers he’d had in his magical school career _had_ made a decent effort to kill him… Oh, who was he kidding? Hogwarts security _sucked_!  Fuck it! -he had to make sure he was safe!

As the clock ticked past 5:11, Harry began to move towards the edge of the bed, inch by excruciatingly painful inch.  He grit his teeth against the pain; Draco could be in trouble and he could be the only one who had any idea.  Three minutes; the sheets were soaked with sweat and his jaw hurt from clenching it to keep from groaning, but he managed to make it from the middle to the edge.  He forced his legs over the side and tentatively put his weight on them.  He felt rather like he was stepping on knives and his vision swam with black spots, but he was used to pain; growing up with the Dursley’s, it had been a near-constant state of existence, so he pushed himself all the way to a standing position with shaking arms and took his first small step.  Then another, and another.  Oh, this was worse than pulling sweaty t-shirts away from belt lashes, crusty with dried blood, after a long day in Petunia’s garden.  He wrenched his neck painfully towards the clock again.  5:20… Something _had_ to be wrong.

 _Just keep pushing forward; you can do this_ , he told himself.  _Draco needs you_.  Okay, almost to the door.  Just a few more steps. The motion of reaching to push the door open, however, was too much for his vastly weakened body, and his legs collapsed from underneath him.  He couldn’t quite seem to make his body listen to his instructions.  Maybe he’d just catch his breath a moment… and try not to faint. 

            Draco nervously but happily hustled to the dungeon with a picnic basket from the house elves, complete with dinner, candles, and the French chocolates his mother recently sent him.  He was a few minutes late, but he didn’t think Harry would mind; it wasn’t like he counted the seconds until he got there or anything.  Honestly, he was surprised Harry wanted to spend time with him at all.  He really hoped his indoor picnic idea didn’t make it seem like he was coming on too strongly…

            Draco pushed open the door to Sev’s dungeon, breath held in anticipation, when he almost tripped on something.  No, someone…

            “Harry!” he gasped, horrified, setting the basket down and leaning down to feel for a pulse.  The other boy looked up at him, green eyes bleary in a haze of pain. 

            “Draco.  You’re okay… was worried the Death Eaters got you.  Thank Merlin,” he gave the blonde a weak smile. 

            “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry!  I just… I was filling a picnic basket for us; I thought we could have a, a… date… or something.”  His stomach was churning with a variety of seething emotions; anxiety about admitting he was trying to set up a date, horror that Harry had dangerously risked his recovery to come looking for him, an overwhelming wave of joy that Harry had been worried enough about him to put himself through so much suffering on the mere _possibility_ that he, Draco Malfoy, the evil Death Eater, might be in danger.  He swiped at his eyes, willing himself not to cry in front of the boy he was desperately in love with. 

            “Oh Merlin, you must be hurting terribly; here let me…” he, gently as possible, put his hands underneath Harry’s armpits and pulled him up until his entire body weight was supported by Draco.  Lifting him up was far easier than it should have been; the other boy was so light…

            Harry grimaced but tried to hide it.  “You know,” he smiled weakly.  “I’ve seen worse; there’s been a lot of murder attempts thrown my way.”  Draco did not find this amusing, which was the way Harry intended, but he kept his mouth shut.

            “Hey,” Harry said, as they passed the couch, “can we just stop here for a little bit.  I just need to catch my breath.”  He was sweating and panting heavily despite having his weight almost entirely supported by Draco, but truly concerning was that he actually _asked_ to stop, which was fundamentally unlike him.

            Draco leant Harry against the couch and surrounded him with pillows on all sides to support him.  He wrapped him in a soft throw blanket and adjusted it carefully so it covered him completely.

            “You comfortable?” he asked, and Harry hummed in confirmation, eyes drooping, sleepy from the exertion and the pain. 

            “Hey, not so fast; you need to eat something before you nod off.  You’re seriously underweight,” Draco told Harry, pulling a sandwich out of his basket and holding it to Harry’s mouth.  “Can you take a bite?”

            Harry chuckled slightly.  “With you feeding me?  I think I can manage.”

            Draco patiently fed Harry bite by bite until the sandwich was gone and reached for another.

            “No more; m’full.”

            “Already?” Draco gasped, scandalized.  “It was one sandwich!”  Merlin, how badly had those muggles fed him, that his appetite was that bad…

            “It was a big sandwich,” Harry’s voice cut through his maudlin musings.  “And I haven’t exactly been burning a lot of calories lately…”

            “You did just force yourself all the way to the door four days after an extended cruciatus curse.  I think that’s enough to warrant an appetite,” Draco argued. 

            “Mmm, stop worrying Dray,” Harry mumbled sleepily.  “Just, s’cold in here.  Come closer?”

            Draco blushed brilliantly but couldn’t bring himself to disagree.  He carefully scooched close to Harry and softly pulled him so that he was resting against his chest.

            “This is nice,” the darker boy sighed.  He was just drifting off to sleep when they heard noises coming from the fireplace in the next room. 

            “I’m telling you, Hermione.  He’s gotta be here somewhere.  He wasn’t anywhere in the hospital wing, we checked really carefully.  He would have been there if he _really_ had the wizard’s flu.  The last time we saw him, he was stalking Malfoy again.  Where better to start than Slytherin?” Ron’s voice rang out. 

            “I’m not disagreeing, Ron; this is just a _very_ risky thing we’re doing, so would you be a little quieter?”  That was Granger, without a doubt, although her voice was much quieter.  They came into view, and quiet was forgotten as they both gasped with the sight of their best friend comfortably ensconced, fast asleep, in the arms of Draco Malfoy. 


	6. Chapter 6

            “Malfoy, what the fuck?!” Ron swore loudly, and Hermione, for once, did not chastise him for his language. 

            “Shhh!” Draco told them severely, gently rubbing Harry’s scalp as he groaned a bit, and continuing to stroke his face gently until he stopped stirring.  “He’s in a lot of pain right now, and he just got to sleep.”

            Neither of them could deny that Harry looked like he’d been through of a hell of a lot in the past few days, even more than if he _had_ been afflicted with the wizard’s flu.  He had dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks were hollow.  He looked like he’d been through hell (of course, the affect was more startling for them; as they hadn’t seen Harry without the glamours he’d kept up all semester after a horrid summer with the Dursleys).

            “Fine,” Hermione sighed.  “But I’m going to scan him for imperious first, to make sure that whatever insanity is happening is of his own free will.”  Draco nodded; he would have done the same, and he was glad that Harry had at least _one_ friend with both the fervent desire to protect him _and_ the sense and ability to do the thing properly. 

            The scan came up clear, and Hermione pursed her lips as she looked at the Slytherin.  “Alright, so he’s here because he wants to be, which is something.  Now start explaining.” 

            Draco took a deep breath.  He hated this; but he owed them the truth.  “Very well.  First… I suppose I owe you all an apology.  I know I have never been kind to either of you, and there’s no excuse for that.”

            “What’s your game, Malfoy?!” Ron ground out, a bit too loudly.  Hermione whacked him across the arm. 

            “If you can’t stay quiet for Harry’s sake, I _will_ put a silencing charm on you,” she told him, and he promptly shut up. 

            “We appreciate that, Draco,” she told him diplomatically, shooting Ron a look when his facial expression said he was most certainly _not_ part of that _we_.  “Please continue.” 

            “Okay,” he exhaled shakily.  Here’s where it got harder.  “Next, you should know that although I haven’t exactly been the best at expressing it, I am completely, hopelessly, desperately in love with Harry, and for some strange reason, he’s decided to give me a chance.”

            Ron squeaked; there was really no other word for his reaction, and Hermione put the threatened silencing charm on him, at which point the redhead decided that he might as well allow himself the scream he’d been craving, since no one could hear.  It was a rather amusing picture.

            Granger pushed a curl off of her coffee-colored forehead and wrestled her afro into a scrunchie.  “I suppose I should have seen this coming, in retrospect; you two always were rather obsessed with each other.”  Ron looked at her and waved his hands wildly as his mouth moved silently, surprised the other Gryffindor was taking this in so calmly. 

            Ron was still waving his hands rapidly, but his emphatic pointing to Harry’s sleeping form got his message across: _How did he get this way?_

            “Okay, this isn’t easy for me to talk about, and I’m basically about to tell you all my darkest secrets, which… I mean, we’re not that close.  But I’m doing this for _Harry_.”

            Hermione just motioned for him to keep talking.  “I guess that I should start… I… I have the dark mark,” he shuddered, and Ron just continued silently expressing his anger.  “But I didn’t want to!” he was quick to say.  “I… my father promised me to the dark lord when I was born, and bad things could have happened if I didn’t take the mark.  He… he would have killed my mother.  I’m not exactly big on my father, but I love my mother.” 

            “That must have been very hard for you,” Hermione said softly, and Ron just gave her the most disbelieving look.  One of his best friends was _cuddling_ Malfoy and the other was _sympathizing_ with him!  Had the world gone mad?!

            “It… it isn’t easy, but I’m not trying to excuse my actions.  It’s just, well, Harry stumbled upon me when I was trying to… compose myself in Myrtle’s bathroom, and I didn’t react well.  And he was so kind and he offered to help me and I just… I lost it.  I got so mad at myself, and I… I cast the cruciatus.” He cringed at Hermione and Ron’s horrified and angry expressions.  “I… I don’t know why I did it; I’ve never been able to before.  I just don’t have enough- I just can’t.  And I didn’t think it would work.  But then he started seizing, and I took him to Severus because I couldn’t get it to stop.  I was losing my mind; I thought I’d killed him- I would have done anything, _anything_ , to take that pain onto myself.”  The sincerity in his grey eyes was so startling that even Ron softened a bit.  “Severus told me that I’d somehow cast the spell with my own self-loathing, and the only way to undo it was to, to confess to him why I hated myself so much.  So… so I did.  I told him everything I just told you, and it finally stopped.  But it had been almost seven minutes,” his voice broke and he wiped a tear from his eye with his free hand, his other arm softly wrapped around Harry.

            “Oh Draco,” Hermione breathed, and her chocolate eyes were full of sadness.  Even Ron had stopped talking, and his friend took the silencing charm off of it on the condition he stay silent.

            “I still don’t like you, Malfoy,” he said quietly.  “But I understand you a little more, and if you make Harry happy, I will do my best to… tolerate you,” he said, just managing to suppress a shudder.

            Draco looked Ron in the eyes, sincerely and for the first time ever actually _looking_ at him.  “I would do anything for him; I would die for him.  I would even kill for him,” he said, feeling it with more conviction than anything he’d ever felt before.  “I don’t know what he sees in me, or _why_ he decided to give me a chance, but he is more important to me than anything in my life, and it’s honestly terrifying, how strong it is, this… this love that I feel for him.” 

            “That… he needs as many people on his side as possible right now,” Hermione said, unsure, for once in her life, of what else to say. 

            “I… I will fight this war with you- for him.  I, just- please.  You have to promise me that you’ll help my mother; you have sway with the light side.  I _need_ her to be safe.  She didn’t… it was a marriage contract that she had, with my father.  She had no say in the matter.  She really hates being married to him.  _Please._   She’s just trying to survive.”

            Surprisingly, it was Ron who spoke up this time.  “We all are, Malfoy.  We’ll help your mother.”  He couldn’t imagine what he would do, if someone had his mum in that situation. 

            “There’s just, one more thing…” Hermione put forth tentatively.  “Why is he so thin?  He couldn’t have lost that much weight in less than a week; it’s not humanly possible.” 

            Draco looked at her and then turned haunted eyes to his sleeping boyfriend, placing a soft kiss on his curls.  “I… I’m not sure I should say; it’s not my secret to tell.” 

            Hermione gave him another long look.  “The Dursleys,” she whispered, a lump in her throat.  “How… how could I have not seen this before.” 

            “He’s powerful; the glamours didn’t come down until after two minutes under the cruciatus.  I… you couldn’t have known.  You did nothing wrong here; I’m the only one of us who’s hurt him here.” 

            “How… how bad was it?” Ron asked, chewing a thumbnail anxiously. 

            Draco hugged Harry a little closer.  “Bad,” he said, the one simple word carrying the weight of the world, the tone saying more about the horrors that Harry, the amazing person who tied the three unlikely companions together, had suffered than words and phrases ever could. 

            “We… we’re stuck together now, aren’t we?” Ron said.  “We have to be here for Harry.” 

            Draco looked carefully at Ron and Hermione and nodded slowly.  “Always,” he said, the word a heavy promise.  This was for life. 


	7. Chapter 7

There was silence for a while, Ron and Hermione taking in everything they had just learned, pondering the implications as they watched Draco hold their best friend, who looked so… so _fragile,_ with the dark circles under his eyes and his brown skin so much paler than usual and the tremors in his small form as Draco held him close, trying to warm him and calm the pain at once, feeling helpless that he couldn’t.

“How… how did he hold up the glamours for so long, while he was so, so… _hurt?”_ Hermione eventually whispered tentatively into the stillness, the feat of magical power impossible to comprehend even for the brightest witch of the age.

“I don’t know,” Draco sighed.  “But even Pomfrey never realised he was wearing them, and it’s… he’s been holding them for _six years,_ if the medical reports are any indication, or else… there’s just no way that the first person who saw him wouldn’t have dropped his arse in the hospital wing immediately.  The fact that he was able to function with that kind of damage, and then the glamours on top… it’s…” he drew in a shaky breath.

“A bloody fucking miracle,” Ron finished, running his hand through his dishevelled red hair.

“If… if you hadn’t, you know?” Hermione tried to broach the topic delicately, but was unsure how.

“If I hadn’t _tortured_ him, you mean?” Draco’s voice broke, self-deprecation cutting his throat like glass.  “Then no… they probably never would have found out- but that doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that I fucking crucio’d the love of my life.”

“I…” Hermione didn’t really know how to respond to that, whether to the idea that her best friend was the love of Draco Malfoy’s life (and seeing Draco as an ally was enough of an adjustment already), or how to reassure him when he had a point.  It was all so complicated. She tugged her afro into a scrunchy almost violently as she chewed her lip, the firelight glinting off her dark skin. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she didn’t get a chance to say anything else, as the sounds of footsteps echoed through the quarters, and she and Ron exchanged weary looks, resigning themselves to whatever trouble they’d gotten into by dismantling Snape’s complicated wards and breaking into his quarters.

The feet pitter-pattered their way softly into the bedroom, only to break into a run when the bed was found empty, the sheets soaked in agony-wrought sweat.  Severus Snape sprinted into his living room, heading for the portrait door when he caught sight of the teenagers in his living room and skittered to a stop, rocking a little unsteadily as he regained his balance after such a quick deceleration.  

“What is going on here?” he asked sternly, looking at his godson and the two (conscious) Gryffindors in front of his fireplace.

“Uh… I was a little late getting down tonight- I was trying to surprise Harry with a picnic.  But I came in and he was lying on the floor. He thought… thought that I was in trouble and tried to come looking for me.”  Draco looked down at his hands in shame.

“Idiot child,” Severus sighed, but his voice lacked malice.  He waved his wand to do a diagnostic charm and his face fell as he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.  “I’m going to have to call Poppy… he’s just set back his recovery by _weeks,_ and he wasn’t exactly doing well before…”  He finally turned his fathomless black eyes on the other two-thirds of the golden trio.  “And _what,_ may I ask, are you two doing in my office?”

“We came looking for Harry,” Ron stuck his chin out stubbornly.  “We were worried about him. Draco told us all about what happened, and we’re going to make sure nothing else happens… to _either_ of them,” he finished, his extreme sense of loyalty towards the friend he considered a brother expanding to include Draco, however impossible it may have seemed to him an hour before.

“How very… _Gryffindor,”_ Snape’s lip curled upward in a sneer, and Ron and Hermione tensed indignantly.  “Very well, as long as you’re here, you may as well make yourselves useful. Granger, go into my stores and bring me one of the dark blue bottles- it’s a neutralizer for the cruciatus curse that should calm the tremors he’s experiencing before they do anymore damage.  I also need a Burning Bitterroot balm, which will help with the pain in his muscles and joints. Got that?” Hermione nodded. “Good,” Snape continued. “I also need bruise balm, as he surely knocked something when he fell, and Essence of Dittany, to ease the discomfort of the scarring.”

“Scarring?” Ron yelped anxiously.

“Draco, you said you told them everything,” Severus cast a wary look at the blonde.

“I meant everything about… um, _our_ situation, not the uh…”

“Did, did the Dursleys _scar_ him?” Ron had a terrible epiphany as Hermione came back with the potions.

“Extensively,” Severus barked, seeing no further need to try to keep Harry’s secrets, as his friends would never let it go, and there was no chance in any case that Poppy would allow him to put the glamours back up, even after she let him go, as the exhaustion caused by the spell would jeopardize his long-term recovery.

“Draco, Weasley- carry Potter _gently_ back to the bedroom and lay him down.  Granger, floo for Poppy and have her come through to the room.  I’m going to go change the sheets in the interim.

Draco very carefully took hold of Harry’s upper body as Ron grabbed his legs.  The teen groaned a little in his sleep, but otherwise stayed still, his exhaustion profound after the events of the day, the week, and the semester in general.  In Snape’s bedroom, the professor had already spelled new sheets onto the mattress and had moved on to vanishing empty potions phials and the old lunch tray (to Harry’s eternal embarrassment, ‘no moving around’ extended to feeding himself, so Dobby had to come in and feed him at every meal, and the elf, displeased at the way the man had treated his favourite person in the whole world for the past six years, passive-aggressively left the mess for the potions master to clean up).

“Alright, lift his head for me- _slowly,”_ he ordered Ron sternly, as if expecting him to be too rough, even though he had yet to even begin.

But the redhead was the embodiment of gentle as he inched his left hand under Harry’s neck, his right cradling the head of messy curls just enough to angle it properly for the incoming potion.

 _“Wha?”_ Harry groaned, holding back a whimper of pain as the cool glass of the phial brought him to a state of semi-awareness.

“Shh, everything is alright Potter- we’ll talk in the morning.  Just drink this.” Severus dipped the liquid down his throat as Draco massaged Harry’s trachea to help it go down, and the tremors slowly ceased as bleary green eyes latched onto Ron and Hermione.

“Guys?” he slurred.  “Why-”

“Time for a sleeping draught,” Snape interrupted, pulling a Dreamless Sleep out of the pocket of his robes where he always kept at least one, tipping it down the boy’s throat before he had a chance to protest.

Harry dropped off again, not even having the chance to try to fight the tiredness as his eyes drooped closed against his will and his breathing evened out again.  Severus looked at the Gryffindor prefects intently.

“Now is your chance to leave, if you’re unsure you’re ready to see this,” he informed them, but they each shook their heads resolutely.  “Very well- I assume that between Granger and Draco that you will be handle rubbing the balms into his skin, and there is no need for me to further invade his privacy.”  He vanished Harry’s pyjamas before leaving quickly, leaving the small teen in his boxers and his skin on display.

It still hurt Draco to see him like this, old scars from a belt-buckle on prominent display and his ribs clearly visible.  Hermione drew in a rattled gasp, and Ron had to run to the corner to throw up, and he stood there for a moment, leaning against the wall to steady himself, before he was able to banish the mess and make his way back to the bedside.

“His back is worse,” he warned Ron in advance as he started gently rubbing bruise balm onto the knee Harry’d hit in his fall earlier.  “But I need you to help me turn him enough to get the bruise on his shoulder.”

Ron nodded and steeled himself, but he still wasn’t ready, and he had to turn his head away as his hands supported Harry’s body so Draco could get the bruise on his shoulder.  Then they set him back down, and Draco and Hermione started gently and methodically rubbing the Bitterroot balm all over his front, and Ron’s shaky, freckled hands shook as he applied dittany to the scars on his chest, still red and raw from the summer.  They lifted him all the way up and did the same thing for his back, and this time Hermione had to fight back her own nausea as she got a close look at the network of scars old and new, while Ron kept his eyes slanted open just enough to see where he was putting the dittany.  By unspoken agreement, they sat on the floor after that, not saying anything as Harry remained in his potions-induced sleep and their thoughts wandered dazedly. Poppy came and went, but besides moving out of her way, they had almost no reaction, although the concerned look on the witch’s face as she waved her wand wormed its way into their heads and stayed there long after she’d sighed, brushed his hair away from his face, and tiptoed back out to talk to Severus.

They’d lost all sense of time, and when McGonagall came looking for her students long after curfew, she was met with very little reaction other than two pairs of unfocused brown and blue eyes that belonged to her truant lions.

“I just came to check on hi-” her voice broke abruptly as her eyes _also_ landed on Harry’s form, still undressed to give the potions a chance to soak into his skin.  “Oh, my…”

“Yeah,” Ron whispered around the sob he was trying to force back down into his chest.  Minerva stared, horrified, for another minute before she shook her head and conjured some new, warm pyjamas to cover her new ward, and Harry sighed a little in his sleep, his body relishing the little bit of comfort to offset the screaming agony of his body, gripping him even in slumber.

“Why… why don’t we three head back to the common room, and we can talk over some tea and biscuits,” she eventually forced out, even though all three of them knew that they didn’t want to try to eat anything with those images in their heads.  “Mr. Malfoy- you should head back to your dormitory as well.”

“Thank you ma’am, but I think I’ll stay.  I won’t be able to sleep anyway,” he sighed, softly putting his weight on the bed as he reached for Harry’s hand.

Professor McGonagall looked as if she considered telling him to leave, but thought better of it, past having the energy to care if students were out of bed, especially if they weren’t hers.

“Very well,” she capitulated.  “You can take that up with your head of house.  It’s been a long day for all of you, and there’s a longer night to come.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, somehow this started as angst and ventured into low-key smut... anyway, enjoy... and yes, those *are* slightly tweaked Hamilton lines

Severus was too tired to try very hard to convince his godson to go back to the dorms, so the blonde stayed by Harry’s bedside, stroking his thumb gently over the _I must not tell lies_ scars on the back of his right hand.  He was thankful, for Harry’s sake, that his boyfriend had been asleep when Severus and Madame Pomfrey had noticed them, as they’d gone apoplectic.  He hadn’t mentioned it to Harry, either, knowing that it was still kind of strange for him for people to get angry on his behalf, especially _Severus Snape._ Anger in general made Harry uncomfortable- he was a very forgiving, compassionate person, and additionally, he had the tendency to blame himself for others’ anger, even if he hadn’t done anything wrong or they weren’t angry at him.

“You deserve so much better, love,” he whispered to the sleeping Gryffindor.  “In every way…” Was it selfish of him, that he couldn’t leave for Harry’s sake?  He wondered if he should, wondered if it would hurt Harry less in the long run, when his boyfriend stirred.

“Draco,” he groaned, in pain, squeezing the blonde’s hand tightly.  Draco inhaled sharply- Harry, not even conscious, had called out _for him._

“Yes luv- I’m here,” he promised, wiping sweaty curls off of Harry’s scarred forehead, the complex, branched shape of the lightning bolt fascinating as it wrinkled with the movement of Harry’s eyes in his sleep.

“Hurts,” he whimpered, and Draco knew he was barely awake, or he wouldn’t have let his guard down enough to admit that, especially because he wouldn’t want to make Draco feel bad.

“I know, darling- I’m so sorry.”  Draco used his free hand to swipe furiously at the tears streaming down his cheeks- _he_ wasn’t the one with any right to cry, after all the things he’d done.

“Hold me,” Harry begged, his eyes _just_ cracking open, and Draco knew he must be _miserable_ if the pain could get to him and pull him out of a slumber induced by such strong potions.

“Okay, I’ve got you,” Draco shushed, gently inching into the bed to wrap his body carefully around Harry’s.  It took him a few minutes of excruciatingly careful adjustments to get to a position that would work, since he was so much taller than Harry.  He had his head above Harry’s on the pillow, and his legs stretched long past his boyfriend’s feet as he got as close as he could without aggravating the pain, his height allowing him to curl around Harry protectively, and he imagined cocooning him from all that would hurt him.  But how could he do that when he, Draco, had hurt him?

He must have dozed off, sometime much later, because when he woke again it was to Harry whimpering and thrashing.

“No, Cedric, no!” he cried.  “Don’t kill him- take me instead!”  He thrashed about, and the movement clearly caused him more pain, but in the throws of his nightmare he couldn’t seem to stop.

Draco did the only thing he could think of- he cast a petrificus totalus on Harry so he wouldn’t injure himself further, and he carded a hand through dark, thick curls as his boyfriend continued to whimper.

He remembered bits of an old song his mother used to sing to him, long ago, and he called them to mind, as, self-consciously, he began to sing.

_“There is so much more inside me now._

_Oh darling, you outshine the morning sun,_

_My love_

_Oh I swear that I’ll be around for you_

_Make it safe and sound for you_

_I’ll bleed and fight for you,_

_I’ll make it right for you._

_When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart._

_And I thought I was so smart._

_And I thought I was so smart…”_

Harry’s breathing gradually evened out, and his whimpers quieted.  Draco breathed a sigh of relief for him, that the nightmare had passed.  But it hadn’t passed for _him,_ this nightmare of Draco’s mixed up in exquisite torture with his wildest dream- he was with the only person he could ever imagine wanting to be with, but he didn’t deserve it.  He _couldn’t_ deserve it, couldn’t deserve _Harry._

“How _on earth_ can I make this right for you?” he asked a sleeping Harry.  “It’s like… it’s like you’re the sun shining on the forest floor, and I’m the monster rotting away under you.  I can’t give you what you need, but you need _me,_ somehow- how do I give you the world when I don’t even deserve to be in it with you?”

The only answer he received was a soft snuffle as Harry weakly gripped his hand, and Draco sighed.  As good a way to start as any was to hold him, here and now, because Harry wanted him, and Draco would take the dark mark all over again before he’d deny Harry anything he wanted, even if he had no idea why he’d want something like him.

_____

The morning light shown through the curtains, and Draco cracked his tear-stained eyes open to see Harry smiling up at him.

“G’mornin’ beautiful,” he said through a smile, thankful that Draco’s face was close enough for him to press a soft kiss to the corner of his perfect lips without having to move and have the fire of pain tear through him again.

“Good morning Master Harry Potter!” Dobby suddenly popped in with breakfast, and Harry groaned and buried his head in the pillow, not ready to face the humiliation of having the elf feed him again.

“Do you want me to feed you, luv?” Draco whispered in his ear, and Harry gave a mumbled ‘yes please.”

“I’ve got it from here, Dobby,” he told his old elf, smiling slightly, as he always did when he thought about the fact that his favourite elf had gotten the freedom he’d always wanted, even if it meant Draco had nobody to play gobstones with or talk to about Harry Potter.  Well, now he had Harry Potter to talk to, so it really didn’t get much better than that… if only he could be _worthy_ of him.

“Oh, Master Draco does, _does he?”_ Dobby squeaked, giving his old little master a sly smile- he knew _far_ too much, damn creature.  Draco felt his cheeks heat, but at least he was pulled out of his mire of self-deprecation.

“Oatmeal?” the blonde asked as he took the breakfast tray, dipping the spoon in the hot cereal.

“Considering that that’s what’s being served, it sounds great,” Harry quipped, opening his mouth as Draco put the spoon in, and his cock twitched a bit- the darker boy obviously didn’t intend it, but the movement of his lips around the silverware was slow, sensual… or it could have been the fact that Draco wanted to _worship_ every move Harry made.

“I’m only allowed to have foods that don’t take too much effort to chew- Pomfrey’s orders,” he sighed, as Draco dipped the spoon in the bowl again.  “I’m not picky, but I would _really_ love some bacon right now…”

“I think I can make that happen,” Draco told him.  “Dobby!” he called, and the elf appeared.

“Yes, master Draco?” he asked, and if he had eyebrows, he would have been raising them teasingly.

“Could you please bring some bacon, chopped into very small pieces?”

“Certainly,” Dobby agreed pleasantly.  “Would you also be liking some chocolates and champagne?- just remember, Master Harry is not being strong enough for exercise just yet.”  Draco blushed again, and it felt like all the blood in his body was either in his prick or his face (even with the elf ruining the mood, Harry was _gorgeous…)._ Harry was trying to bite back a chuckle, seeing how embarrassed Draco was.

“No, just the bacon please,” he mumbled, trying not to spontaneously combust on the spot.

Dobby came back with the meat a moment later, and then just as quickly disappeared with a wink.  Draco felt much more self-conscious after the elf’s teasing, but he could see Harry looking at the bacon with hungry green eyes (almost _aroused,_ really, and _Merlin,_ didn’t his cock like that…).  He picked up a piece.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, and Harry did as Draco placed a small piece of the salty, crunchy breakfast meat on his tongue.

“Now just let it sit for a moment until it’s soft enough to swallow,” the blonde said, and Harry smiled at him and, looking right at him, sucked Draco’s long fingers gently as he pulled them out.  His erection was becoming unbearable by this point, and very, _very_ visible.

Harry smirked (a hot look on him, which _didn’t_ help), motioning his eyes towards the tent in the sheets.

“You want me to… take care of that for you?” he asked, the smile making his way through to his voice- he was enjoying Draco’s misery far too much.

“Harry, you can’t… you know you can’t move...”

“Who said I need to move?” Harry smirked again, his eyes alight with an intoxicating confidence as he put his lips to Draco’s ear.  In all of those nights wanking to Harry’s image in his mind, he’d never dreamed he could be so lucky as to have it _right there._

“Scared, Malfoy?” he asked huskily, voice just barely audible.

Draco came harder than he ever had in his life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I made a bit of a different choice with this chapter- I don't ever see fics with a Mexican Harry, but honestly I think it's something that should really be done more often, and I feel like their beliefs on death and the afterlife would honestly tie in really well to Harry's life and general experience. This chapter was a bit difficult to write, as I just couldn't quite seem to get it how I wanted it to go, but I hope I've managed to meet your expectations and hopes now and will continue to through the rest of this story, which should maybe be a few more chapters at most.

About a week after their conversation with Ron and Hermione, Harry was having his nightly meeting with his boyfriend, who was sitting in the armchair by the bed.

“Hey sweetie?” Harry asked Draco, whose cheeks lit up at the endearment- Harry gave him all sorts of pet names, throwing them around so casually and yet with such softness in his voice.  It made him feel simultaneously amazing and terrible- how could Harry care for him so much after what he’d done?

“What do you need luv?” Draco jumped immediately, ready to get him anything he asked for.  “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Is the pain getting worse- do you need me to get Sev?”

“Slow down and I’ll tell you,” Harry smirked, rolling his eyes.  “I just need you to dictate a letter for me.”

“Oh, sure- anything,” the blonde let out a slow breath- could he be any more of a  _ spaz?   _ “If you’d rather, I can get you a quick quotes quill and leave the room for a moment,” he offered.

“Draco, you know I trust you- besides, I need you to write a letter to your mum.”

“My mum?” Draco looked at him in surprise.

“Yeah.  Do you think she’d be willing to go to Grimmauld Place, for her own safety?”

“But what about-”

“Shh,” Harry carefully- painfully- inched his hand along the bed to brush against Draco’s.  “We’re not gonna involve Dumbledore- I know you don’t trust him, and after everything that happened last year…” his face darkened for a moment, and Draco garnered his courage to run a comforting hand along Harry’s face, pale thumb brushing across his cheek.  “I can’t say I blame you,” Harry finished eventually, sighing.

“How, though?” Draco felt the beginnings of a headache blossoming behind his temples.  “He’s the secret keeper, isn’t he?”

“Kreacher,” Harry explained.  “I gave him Regulus’ old bedroom, so he’s warmed up to me.  If you write to your mother and tell her to meet him at a certain time, he can apparate her inside and bypass the Fidelius charm- as the house elf, his connection to the location is more significant than Dumbledore’s.”

“Wow, I… I never thought of that.”

“Most people  _ don’t _ think about the house elves,” Harry’s lip quirked fondly as he thought about Hermione- she had been so  _ proud  _ of him, when he’d decided to put the past behind him and start cultivating a relationship with Kreacher.  “Which happens to work out to the advantage of those who do.”

“How very Slytherin of you,” Draco couldn’t help the smile making its way to his face, although he did his best to make it seem more of a smirk than what it actually was- the grin of a lovesick sap.

“The hat  _ did  _ almost put me in Slytherin, you know,” Harry remarked conversationally.

Draco stopped dead, despite the fact that he  _ should  _ be sending a letter that would help his mother to safety.  Harry- the love of his life, the person that had occupied the majority of his thoughts in one way or another since the moment they’d met in the robes shop, Harry  _ Potter-  _ had almost gone to Slytherin.  He refused to allow his thoughts to wander towards the theoretical, but  _ oh,  _ he couldn’t help but wish…

“What… what stopped it?” He forced himself to ask, voice shaking.

“Er,  _ I  _ did…” Harry admitted, and Draco knew, from years of watching him, that if he had been able to move without pain he would have scratched his neck with that dorkish, sheepish expression like he always did when he was nervous.  “It’s just… well, I didn’t know much about the wizarding world yet, and what I had heard about Slytherin was all fairly negative- not true, mind you, but negative, and then…” he trailed off, but Draco knew what he  _ wasn’t  _ saying, what he was holding back out of respect.

“Then there was me being a right arse,” he sighed sadly- he really was his own worst enemy.  The dark mark on his arm gave a phantom stab of pain, as if trying to remind him.

“Draco, we were  _ eleven,”  _ Harry’s eyes did what his hands couldn’t reaching out to comfort him.  “And  _ that,”  _ emerald orbs roved to the dark mark, “wasn’t your fault.”

“Harry, I had a  _ choice,  _ and I made the wrong one.  You wouldn’t have done it.”

“Hey- look at me,” Harry ordered gently, when Draco tried shy away from his intent expression.  “I don’t  _ know  _ what I would have done, if our situations had been reversed, if I was under that much pressure from the people I cared about.  But I  _ do  _ know that if Ron or Hermione or  _ you  _ were in danger, I’d do anything to keep you all safe- even the wrong things.”

“I… what do you want the letter to say?”  His boyfriend changed the subject, and Harry let it rest for the moment.

“Can you tell her that if she can make it outside the manor alone and call for Kreacher, he’ll come?  Would that be possible-  _ can  _ she get away?”  Harry worried his lip with his teeth, and Draco had a vivid flashback to him biting through it, under the cruciatus, with the pain and the blood and the way he should have been screaming,  _ should have been but wasn’t, and  _ **_ohMerlinwhathashedone_ ** _ and… _

“Draco?”  Harry’s anxious voice broke through, cutting through the panorama of technicolour memories skittering around him, pushing them back to just the haze of painful fog.  “Is… is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes- it’ll be fine; my mother is a very smart woman and now that she has somewhere to go and a safe way to get there, sneaking away should be no problem.  Really, Harry- I cannot thank you enough. This would have been  _ impossible  _ without you.”

“Part of the job description- being the saviour and all,” Harry quipped, reminding Draco again (not that he really  _ needed  _ any reminder) of why he loved him so much: for all his single-minded goodness, Harry had a biting wit, a sharp edge that could- and  _ did-  _ cut to the quick.  Loving Harry Potter was like playing with fire, but  _ Merlin,  _ it burned so good.

There was silence for a while as Draco’s quill scratched across the parchment.  His mother was being watched, of course, so he had to figure out a way to word the message so that she could read between the lines if anyone were to examine her mail.  But they were used to this- living in a house ruled by Lucius Malfoy, Draco and Narcissa had developed a way of communicating more through what they  _ didn’t  _ say than what they  _ did.   _ A casual platitude about how ‘he hoped the manor didn’t feel too crowded’ and an off-handed mention of ‘hoping the elves were keeping things nice, otherwise the place can start to feel too grimm,” with the strokes of the nib just a  _ bit  _ harder on the words  _ grim  _ and  _ place,  _ and she would know where she could go.  Then Draco made a point to ask for some slippers he had at home, citing a need for his ‘creature comforts.’  Hopefully it would be enough, and Kreacher would be on standby, ready to spirit her to safety whenever she could sneak away.

“Everything set?” Harry asked when he’d finished, rolling it up to take to the owelry later, and Draco nodded in response.

“Would you…” Harry couldn’t help but fiddle with the duvet with his fingertips, and Draco gently put a hand out to stop him, “would you mind… lying down with me for a bit?”  He felt a little awkward, asking for affection out of the blue, unprompted.

“Of course,” Draco gave him the first genuine smile Harry had seen from him that day, and he relaxed, glad the blonde didn’t see it as an imposition.

“Just tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said as he sank into the bed and idled cautiously towards Harry.

“No, I’m fine,” the other boy insisted, melting into the warmth of the body wrapped around him.  “This is perfect.”

It occurred to Draco as he was carding the fingers of his right arm through Harry’s hair, eliciting a relaxed purring sound from his cuddly boyfriend, that for all the wizarding world’s adoration, these simple acts of affection were so foreign to him.  He’d grown up unloved, unwanted, and this hurt Draco so much that if he had to, he’d spend every day for the rest of his life giving Harry all the love he could, even if that meant he had none left for himself. His right arm in Harry’s hair, his left draped casually over Harry’s side, their fingers intertwined-  _ this _ was a heaven he didn’t deserve.

“Hey,” Harry murmured.  “None of those dark thoughts now- I wouldn’t be here with you if you weren’t everything I needed.”

“Even with this?” Draco wasn’t sure what possessed him to move his right hand over and jerk his sleeve up, expose the ugly mark.  Harry was too pure to look at something like that, and maybe that’s why- maybe he just wanted him to face the reality of who he was lying with, to realise that he could to better, to move on before Draco could drag him down any further.

_ “Especially  _ that,” Harry said, fingers ghosting over the brand.  “Marks can mean more than one thing, you know.” Draco’s eyes automatically went towards the lightning scar- worshipped by the wizarding world but such a source of pain for Harry.  “And this-” Draco watched in disbelief and fascination as inked flowers sprang to life under Harry’s fingers- daffodils, aster, azalea, narcissus,  _ lilies.   _   Rebirth, devotion, passion, gratitude,  _ innocence, unity…   _ The symbolism for the flowers that he’d studied so carefully, in the garden with his mother growing up- they danced along his skin, winding up the mark like a trellis.  Harry was pouring everything that he saw in Draco that Draco couldn’t see for himself into his skin, where he couldn’t forget it.

_ “How?”  _  Draco breathed, in awe.

“I’m not sure, honestly,” Harry smiled at him.  “My magic just knows. Voldemort,” he stopped when Draco flinched at the name, squeezing his hand.  “ _ He  _ tried to kill me that night, but instead he ended up putting a little bit of himself in me.  I thought it was kind of disgusting, at first, but maybe… maybe instead I can use that  _ against  _ him- pour a little of myself in everything he tries to destroy.  He couldn’t have me, thanks to my mother, and maybe if I keep spreading that love… maybe he can’t have you either.”

“It… it’s  _ beautiful,”  _ Draco breathed.  “Did you  _ mean  _ to do flowers, or did that just happen?”

“I didn’t really mean to do anything, but when I looked at it, I was thinking about the  _ calaveras,”  _ he rolled the word off his tongue.  “I didn’t know that I was Mexican until I went to Hogwarts, you know.  But Hermione’s been helping me learn about the culture, and I like the way they think about death, the way they celebrate life instead.  And it’s nearly Dia de los Muertos,” he pronounced the words very carefully. “I… Hermione and Ron were going to set up an oferta with me, before…” he broke off again, hating the way Draco looked so guilty.  “So I guess I was just thinking about that, is all, and the magic responded. Maybe I had help.” He smiled fondly, his eyes turning upwards.

“We… we can still do an oferta, if you want…” Draco offered.  “I… Sev has some old pictures of your mum, and I think Fleamont and Eufemia should have their photos in the library somewhere, since they’re part of an old family- they should be in one of the ancestry books.”

“Hermione couldn’t find any,” Harry smiled sadly.  “Well, she found one of my grandad, but none of my grandmother.”

“How’d she spell it?” Draco asked.

“What?” Harry’s brow furrowed, perplexed.  

“The spelling- was it with an f or a ph?” the blonde clarified.

“Uh, ph I think- that’s how it was spelled in any written mention we could find of her.”

“They must have anglicized it,” Draco shook his head.  “Your grandmother was born in Mexico, so it would have been spelled with an f.  If Hermione was looking through the catalogues for a  _ Eu _ **_ph_ ** _ emia,  _ the spells wouldn’t have been able to find any photographs, since the ancestry books always use the spelling that’s on the birth certificate.”

“Oh…” Harry caught on, and hope began to sparkle in his eyes.  “I didn’t think about that…”

“That’s what I’m here for- your personal linguistics expert.”  Draco kissed Harry’s ear softly, and his boyfriend laughed.

“And you’re a pretty good pillow too,” he said with a smile in his voice as he laid back against Draco’s chest.  “You know, in a way, I’m  _ glad  _ you accidentally cursed me- otherwise  _ this,”  _ he squeezed Draco’s hand, “wouldn’t have happened, and I’d be going back to another summer with the Dursleys.  So think about that, the next time you go to beat yourself up over this.”

“I…” Draco frowned.  “It’s very hard to argue with someone so idiotically optimistic.”

“Good,” Harry smiled.  “Then don’t.”


End file.
